Why is Paulo Coelho so successful? That is the question I hear most often from journalists. But if readers imagine I can answer it, they had better stop reading now. My creative process goes against a "recipe for success"; my books have different themes, are set at different times. Some say it's all down to marketing: well, my first two books (The Diary of a Magus and The Alchemist) had already sold more than 250,000 copies before the first advertisement appeared. The same happened abroad: publishers were only willing to invest in an unknown Brazilian writer when they saw what was happening in Brazil.

There is no secret to my success, but there are three factors that always make the universe favour someone trying to achieve their dream. The first: you must believe in what you are doing. From the moment I decided to make my living from literature, I dropped all my other work. I stopping working as a lyricist, as a TV scriptwriter and as a journalist, and resolved to put all my energies into what brought me most happiness. The second: you can never achieve a dream alone. My allies were the readers who managed to spread the work of an unknown author.

Finally, you must find a personal way of sharing your dream - in literature, a style. I wanted to talk about ancient themes, but using modern language. My drafts were almost three times as long as the final book, but I forced myself to believe in the reader's ability to set the scene, and I concentrated, instead, on the interactions between the characters. Experience has proved me right.

An author must take risks. I cannot know what millions of readers over the world will think about what they are reading. I write for the one person whom I know reasonably well - myself. Every creative undertaking is an adventure which is at once painful and fascinating: on the one hand, there is the fear of discovering our own ghosts; on the other, the excitement of knowing we are more interesting than we thought we were.

And in order to take that plunge into our soul, we need a clearly defined creative process. Whether in literature, engineering or love, the creative process follows the cycle of nature. The first stage is ploughing the field: as soon as the soil is turned over, oxygen penetrates into places it could not previously reach. We will thus be prepared for the miracle of inspiration.

Next comes sowing: every work is the fruit of contact with life. The creative person cannot shut himself away; he needs to be in touch with his fellow human beings. The more intensely he lives, the more likely he is to find his own language. He must allow life to sow the fertile ground of his unconscious.

Then there comes a time of ripeness, when the work writes itself freely, in the depths of the author's soul. I know people who compulsively take notes of everything going on in their heads, ignoring what is being written in their unconscious. The result is that the fruits of memory get in the way of the fruits of inspiration. Last comes harvest: the moment when the creator brings to a conscious level everything that he sowed and allowed to ripen. If picked too early, the fruit is green; if picked too late, the fruit is rotten. The artist must now labour day and night, fearlessly and in a disciplined manner, until the work is complete.

And what should one do with the fruits of the harvest? Again, look to Mother Nature: she shares everything with everyone. When the work is complete, one must share one's soul, without fear and without shame.